


The Final Transformation of Audrey Smith

by Rineia



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/F, Huge Breasts, Latex, Slavery, Transformation, drones, dronification
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-11-26 18:03:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20934446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rineia/pseuds/Rineia
Summary: Audrey Smith is something of a transformation addict, and wants something to help her deal with her problem.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The first chapter of a two-parter. I wanted to do something with a recent interest in drones and drone transformation, and this is what came to mind. Please enjoy and leave comments, good or bad!

It was a brownstone in the middle of the block. Three stories. Completely unassuming, and if I didn’t have the address right in front of me on my phone, I never would have guessed this was my destination. And sure enough, confirmation was printed on a plaque hung up next to the solid door, the gold letters as plain as day. 

‘Mistress St. Claire. Transformationist extraordinaire. Appointments only.’

My tail swayed uncertainly behind me, and I felt my feline ears flattening down against my head. Was I ready? Had things really come to this? I wasn’t sure about the answers to either of those questions, but I tucked my phone in my purse anyway and stepped up the three steps to the door.

Trying it proved it was locked, so I rang the buzzer. Barely two seconds passed before a voice emanated from the speaker. “Mistress St. Claire’s. Who is calling?” The voice was prim, proper, undeniably feminine, and completely monotone.

“Um … Audrey. Audrey Smith. I have an appointment.” 

“Audrey Smith.” She echoed it, and there was a second of pause. “Yes. Please come in.” I heard a loud click, and trying the door again proved more successful that time. The front room seemed to be a lobby of some kind, with a handful of chairs, a TV hung up in the corner (which seemed to be on, but there was nothing on the screen). A woman, likely the one that had let me in, sat behind a small desk, a computer in front of her.

I had heard tell of those who had gone under Mistress St. Claire’s control, but seeing one of her so-called drones for the first time was still something of a shock. 

She was beautiful, no question. Exquisitely so. Her skin was light, contrasting sharply with a mane of perfectly straight, ebon black hair that tumbled down her back. Her bangs were cut straight and low to the point that I thought for a moment that they were covering her eyes, but a second look revealed that her eyes were simply black.

Pure black. No color, no whites, nothing. 

Her lips were full, plush, and just as black as her hair and eyes. Full enough that she seemed to have trouble closing them all the way; the effect was undeniably erotic, and heat began to build between my thighs … though whether that was at how exotic, almost alien-like she was or the idea that I …

Well. One thing at a time.

“Audrey Smith.” She spoke up again, and I shook my head a little, tail drooping as I approached the desk. “Mistress St. Claire is unfortunately busy right at this moment, but she will see you as soon as she is able. Please have a seat.” She extended one hand to the small array of chairs, which brought attention to her attire.

From the neck down, she seemed completely encased in dark-red latex. It clung to every last inch of her, highlighting the full enormity of her incredible, impressive bust, seemingly untouched by gravity. Buoyant. Pneumatic. Even her nipples were obvious, hard gumdrops, jutting against the material of her suit. Was the rest of her such a caricature of sexualized femininity? Evidence suggested yes, and I felt another shiver going down my spine.

It wasn’t like I hadn’t seen that sort of transformed woman before; excessive sexuality was rather common, even. Hell, it wasn’t like I didn’t have curves to spare. The t-shirt that strained over my full bust was testament enough to that.

A snap of the woman’s fingers woke me from my distracted thoughts, and she pointed more insistently to the chairs. “_ Sit. _” For the first time, something sort of like emotion entered her voice, but it wasn’t annoyance or frustration or impatience. No, it was just a firmness in her voice.

Something like dominance.

Heat flooded my cheeks, and I meekly hurried over to settle down. Imagine! Getting ordered around by a fucking _ drone _! My furred tail wended its way around into my lap, and I idly stroked the tip of it, doing my best not to squirm where I sat. The drone paid me no more mind, but didn’t seem to be working: she just stared at her computer screen with a blank look on her features, but there was no denying the gentle movement of one hand beneath her desk. 

I struggled not to stare at the absurdly hot woman openly masturbating mere feet from me, and my eyes drifted back up to the television screen. It was on, that much was clear, but it seemed to be tuned to a channel showing only a blank, black image. Only in the silence of the room (apart from the quiet but noticeable wet sound of fingers sliding in and out of a needy cunt) did I notice that while there wasn’t any video, there was quiet audio. Something kind of like static, a low hum that seemed to reach directly into both sets of ears (some who got catgirl transformations had their human ears removed, but I opted against it) and deep into my brain. Like it was massaging my mind and hitting all the right buttons.

I must have dozed off, as the next thing I knew was that snap again of the receptionist getting my attention. I blinked, hurriedly wiped the drool from my lips, and rose to my feet. “Audrey Smith. Mistress St. Claire will see you now. Please follow the hallway to the end; do not open any doors that are not already open.” 

The odd phrasing of that elicited a blink, but I didn’t question or argue back. Heading into the indicated hallway, the carpet was soft beneath my feet, and there were plenty of closed doors on either side. As I passed by, I heard muffled moans and cries, most of pleasure but some of pain, and I found myself acutely aware of the fact that my thighs were definitely wet. Just how … how excited had that drone gotten me?

Curiosity raged, and I longed to open up one of the doors to see what kinds of depravity were lurking in the depths of this building, but the drone’s orders held firm in my mind and I progressed to the end. The door there was half open; that was my destination, I knew, and I gently pushed it open to step through.

“Audrey Smith.” This was not the voice of a drone, no; it was laced with interest, with curiosity, with fascination, but held power and confidence far beyond anything I could have ever imagined. The sweetness of honey and the sharpness of a knife. “Shoes off. Leave them in the hallway.” I quickly obeyed, stripping off my sneakers and leaving them untidily outside, before continuing within.

“Please, have a seat. I’m so glad you came to visit me.” The room was large, and far more decorated than the lobby. There was a large wooden desk near the back wall, and an enormous aquarium against one wall, its lights casting a warbling blue glow over the rest of the room. The room’s lights were gently lit sconces along the walls rather than anything overhead, and the ambiance lent the room an intimacy I was neither expecting nor ready for. Would I ever be able to stop blushing in this place?

The woman herself -- Mistress St. Claire, I surmised -- was beautiful too, but in such a different way from the drone. Her skin was much darker, a few shades beyond milk chocolate, and her light blonde hair was kept back in a tight bun, held in place by a flower-decorated pin. Her eyes were normal, unlike the drone’s, but a piercing, icy blue that seemed to see immediately past my transformed skin directly into my innermost secrets. A smile played at her lips, and she gestured casually to a comfortable leather chair opposite her own; both were perched near a gently-lit fireplace that was little more than embers at the moment.

She was dressed for business, it seemed, with a black blazer hung on the back of her chair matching the crisp white button-down shirt and the tight black pencil skirt. She wore stockings, vanishing up beneath the skirt, her legs crossed, one over the other. No shoes. Guess that was a rule.

The other notable things in the room were the two drones kneeling to either side of the woman. They looked utterly identical to the receptionist, but their latex suits were blue rather than red. Neither of them seemed to acknowledge my existence, not even flinching as I moved to settle in the indicated seat. They simply stared up at their owner, a look of rapturous worship on each face, and apart from gentle breathing, neither of them moved or fidgeted whatsoever. 

Pity the same couldn’t be said for me. I fidgeted plenty for the four of us.

“Now. Audrey Smith.” Why did my extremely simple name sound so … so fucking _ hot _ coming from her? “Why have you come to see me today?” As she spoke, she let one hand -- thick gold bands on her middle and ring fingers, I noticed -- slip out to stroke through the hair of the drone on her right, and I saw the girl shiver in simple ecstasy at Mistress St. Claire’s touch.

“I … I need to be transformed.” Her lips spread into an amused grin, and gestured with her other hand in the universal ‘go on’ sign. “No, I mean it. I _ need _ to be transformed. I always have. I’m never, like, happy with who I am. Doesn’t matter what changes, I just need _ something _ to change.” 

“You realize I am a transformationist and not a therapist, yes? If it is your addiction you are looking to cure, you are in the wrong place.” 

“No, I know. I can’t bear the thought of staying the same forever, of being ‘cured’ and never transforming again.” How boring a life would that be? Just being the same person day in, day out? “But I also can’t keep changing as much as I do. It’s getting expensive, for one, and my family is really starting to worry about me.” 

“Just how many transformations have you undergone?”

I smiled weakly. “I lost count. I’ve done … a lot of stuff. Most recently, the catgirl stuff --” I pointed to my furred ears and to my tail, and I knew my pointed canines showed when I spoke. “-- but I’ve done lots of, like, body stuff. Bigger boobs, bigger butt. Tried being fat for awhile. Even had a dick for a week or so, but that never felt right. I’ve done some mental stuff too, mostly harmless, fun lust triggers. They were supposed to be temporary, but I still can’t keep from cumming a little whenever someone mentions … um, the Hawaiian fruit.” 

“Pineapple?” It sounded like natural curiosity, but the effect was immediate and noticeable, with a strangled little cry escaping my lips as a low-grade orgasm washed through my body, all while Mistress St. Claire roared with laughter. “That is the _ silliest _trigger! Let me guess, Gardener did that one to you.” I nodded, my cheeks flushed. “He adores that sort of silly thing. I can remove it for you, if you like.” 

I shook my head, smoothing my hands over my jeans, trying to collect myself after such an embarrassing display. “No, it’s … I came to you for a reason, miss St. Claire.”

“_ Mistress _ St. Claire!” Both drones spoke up for the first time, their voices sharp and in unison as they turned to glare at me. At least, I think it was at me; it was hard to tell with those blank eyes. 

“Settle, girls. But yes, I very much prefer my proper title. Do not call me anything else.” She soothingly stroked the girls’ hair, and they seemed to forget about me once more, each of them shifting to cling to their owner’s legs, their latex-encased heavy busts squishing up against Mistress St. Claire’s stocking-clad calves. “Now, you were saying, Audrey?” 

“I, um.” A flicker of blue light caught my eye, and it took me a second of staring to realize what it was: there were letters filing across the drones’ black eyes. Bright blue, but small and in reverse, so I couldn’t tell exactly what they were saying. Were the eyes artificial? Transformation magic was strong and versatile, but I had never seen anything like that.

“**Audrey.**” Her voice was much more forceful, and I looked up from the drones hurriedly. “I will not ask you again. You will answer my questions, or you will leave.” 

“S … sorry. I came to you because I heard you’re, like, the most creative transformationist out there. I’ve done so many transformations, so many changes, but it’s never enough. I love the act of changing, of becoming something new, and it’s exciting for a little while afterward, but soon I always want to have something else done. A new change.” The explanations spilled out of me, one after the other. I had tried to explain it to people before, but they never quite seemed to understand. Transformations were popular enough, but most people were satisfied with a little something here and there. People like me, who craved the act of changing more than the result, were much rarer. 

“And you believe I will be able to give you something new, something to sate that urge?” She shook her head sadly. “I confess that is somewhat flattering, but I am unsure if what I do to you will stifle that desire to change for longer than anyone else.” 

“Well, actually …” I hesitated a moment. Was I really about to ask this? Had it really come to this? Was this what I truly, genuinely wanted? I took a deep breath, and spoke those fateful words.

“I want you to make me a drone.” 

This, at long last, finally seemed to take her by surprise. Her blue eyes widened for a moment, before she broke out in a wide, understanding smile; the look of someone who has just learned someone else’s embarrassing secret. “Now now, if you want to be my pet, you don’t need to be a drone, dear.” 

“No, I … I want to be a drone. Drones don’t have, like … desires or anything, right? Not of their own. So I won’t need to worry about that urge to change, since I wouldn’t want anything for myself, and if my owner wanted to change me, they could. It would be up to them, and I could finally just … just _ be _.” My heart raced, my hands balled into fists in my lap, and I couldn’t bring myself to meet her gaze for a moment.

“You are more or less correct. Becoming a drone means sacrificing your will, your autonomy. Not your _ mind _, necessarily, but … yes, this would certainly be one solution to your problem. Are you quite sure you would want to take such a drastic step?” 

I nodded, my eyes fixed on her drones. If they were listening to the conversation, they gave absolutely no sign. What would it be like to be one of them? To be just … objects? Property? To live entirely at the whim of another? “Yes.” 

“Intriguing.” She didn’t say anything for a few moments after, and when I dared a glance, she was studying me. Looking me over, as if she was trying to gauge my suitability. “You have thought this through. I can see.” She nodded. “It is rare I get someone who is so certain about their desire to sacrifice their autonomy and devote themselves wholly to the will of another.”

“It’s … it’s what I need. Please, Mistress St. Claire.” It certainly didn’t help that I had a submissive streak a mile wide. Honestly, it was more a surprise I hadn’t become someone’s pet already; there were plenty of girls who became pets or slaves before they were twenty, and I was twenty-eight. 

“Of course. This is not only a complicated procedure, but also a legal mess. It will take some time to have all of the forms drawn up, for you to sign away every right you have. I will give you one week to tidy up your affairs; if you do not return, I will assume you changed your mind.” 

“I won’t. I won’t! I promise, this is what I want.” Getting it out into the open, actually giving voice to these desires felt like it had opened a dam in my mind, and my needs came rushing out. “I want to be a mindless, obedient drone, just like … fuck, just like them.” I gestured to the girls -- wait, when had they started kissing? Two plush, fat pairs of lips drooling over each other as the drones eagerly, hungrily made out with one another at their owner’s feet. Their hands stroked over each other’s enormous tits, groping and squeezing with increasing passion, latex against latex … but their moans and squeals in the midst of their kissing made it clear they felt everything keenly.

Did they still have some autonomy? Were they just following their passions, their instincts? I hadn’t seen the woman give them any kind of order, but who knew.

Mistress St. Claire just looked on with pride and affection, before glancing back up at me.

“Do not worry, Audrey. If you do as I say, you will get your very last desire.”


	2. Chapter 2

It was surprisingly easy to wrap up my affairs. Quitting my job, breaking my lease, informing my family they could have whatever they liked from my property. I didn’t tell them I was becoming a drone, of course; I told them my job was moving me overseas for the foreseeable future. It wasn’t difficult. I never truly had a very good relationship with them to begin with, probably due to my transformation addiction. 

Whatever. It didn’t matter anymore.

When I returned to Mistress St. Claire’s office a week later, I was greeted by not only the receptionist drone in red (was it the same one? Who could tell?) but two others in blue. Who, again, I had no idea if they were the same ones I had met that had been clinging to their owner’s legs just a week prior.

“Audrey Smith!” crowed one blue drone in obvious delight, seizing one arm, showing much more emotion than I had seen in a drone yet. 

Not individuality, though. “Welcome back, Audrey Smith!” cheered the other in the very same overwhelmingly happy tone, taking my other arm, both limbs suddenly crushed against two enormous busts, grinding against me with their rubbery softness. Their hands traveled over my body, though thankfully staying outside of my clothes; still, they weren’t shy about touching and groping me wherever they pleased, ignoring my squeaks and blushing.

“We all hoped you would come back. Mistress St. Claire will be so pleased to see you!” I couldn’t keep track of which one was which. They looked utterly identical, each and every detail matched. Same hair, same length, same cut, same pale hue of skin, same pitch black eyes. 

“Y … yeah. Listen, do you two have names or anything?” Was I starting to doubt my certainty of wanting to become a drone? It was almost better when they were flat, emotionless, easier to write off as more objects than anything. This was … different, and I didn’t know how to react entirely.

“Not exactly. We have designations, as sometimes Mistress St. Claire needs to provide repairs to one of us individually.” 

“Let us show you.” 

Abruptly, those pitch black eyes lit up with the same neon blue I had seen before, but they weren’t letters this time. The drone on my left had glowing blue hearts in her eyes as though in place of pupils, while the drone on my right had stars. 

“Oh. Huh.” I didn’t entirely know what to make of that. “Are those eyes artificial? I didn’t think transformation magic could make things like that.” 

Heart nodded. “Mistress St. Claire works with someone who manufactures them. They help to keep us in the right mindset.” 

“The … what?”

Heart and Star both giggled. “You’ll find out. Come on, Audrey Smith! Don’t keep Mistress St. Claire waiting!” They tugged, inexorably, and I found myself pulled right along with them. Who could resist that excitement, that lush, feminine softness? As strange as they were, they were still two exquisitely beautiful girls, and exquisitely beautiful girls were something of a weakness of mine.

I followed them down that hall, feeling undeniably wet between my thighs, especially since they seemed to continue finding every opportunity they could to rub right up against me. It felt like … since I had agreed to become one of them, they were already starting to treat me like one. 

It was nice.

“Audrey Smith.” Mistress St. Claire’s unmistakable voice didn’t hold quite the same note of unrestrained glee as the drones did, but she was still plainly happy to see me, eliciting a further blush. “I cannot begin to describe how pleased I am to see you here today.” 

“I, um, did what you said. Tidied up my affairs, or whatever.” It was overwhelming! Facing down this immense transformation, all while being constantly pawed at and teased by Heart and Star, on top of being stared down by the oh-so-imposing Mistress St. Claire … who, when she came to stand before me, was around an inch shorter than me. Huh.

“Good girl.” She reached up, cupping my cheek with one hand, and I reflexively nuzzled into her touch, drawing a little laugh from her. “Oh, you are going to make  _ such _ a good drone. Isn’t she, girls?”

“Yes, Mistress St. Claire!” they both chimed in instantly.

“It’s going to feel wonderful when you’re one of us! Being claimed by Mistress St. Claire was the best thing that ever happened to this one in her old life,” Star helpfully went on to gush.

The blonde Mistress stepped away, back to her desk, beckoning for me to follow. “Now, this is the least fun part of this procedure. You will have to sign all of these --” She gestured to the piles of papers carefully arranged across her desk, covered with legalese. I knew I wouldn’t be able to make proper heads or tails of them even if I took a week to go through all of it, but it ultimately didn’t even matter. 

“So … what are all of these?” I questioned, collecting the pen, and starting to sign and initial where Mistress St. Claire indicated; it was honestly hard to keep my focus on such a menial task with Heart and Star both clinging to me, hands starting to dare to slip beneath my skirt, but I didn’t exactly tell them to stop.

Mistress St. Claire smiled lightly. “You are signing away your rights as a person, effectively. The individual known as Audrey Smith will simply cease to exist. All of your property that you have not already made allowances for will be ceded to your next of kin.” My parents, then. “You will no longer have an identity recognized by the state. No name, no social security number, nothing. You will, completely and entirely, be property.” That smile widened, even as my hand sagged for a moment, hesitating. “My property, to be precise. There is no going back from this, Audrey. Even if I decided to transform you back to who you were, there would be no recourse for you legally. You are property, now and forever more.” 

Was this truly what I wanted? Wasn’t this a little extreme to simply sate a transformation addiction once and for all? It was extreme, yes, but … there was no denying just how appealing the thought was of belonging to Mistress St. Claire. Of not needing to have those desires, those needs in my mind, pushing me to take greater and greater risks, to ruin myself financially just for that hit of dopamine. This was the greatest risk of all, but it came with the benefit of removing my ability to change my mind or be dissatisfied. 

“Don’t worry, Audrey Smith! You’ll love being one of us! We’ll make you feel so wonderful, and you’ll make us feel so wonderful too, and we can all serve Mistress St. Claire together!” Heart cooed in my ear, the gorgeous drone’s fingers somehow having found their way beneath my shirt, teasing at my quickly stiffening nipple.

“Just sign, please? You don’t need to be a person anymore. You don’t need to worry about  _ anything _ when you’re one of us.” Star didn’t hold back either, her own hand slipping within my increasingly-wet panties, and for a moment I wanted to just surrender to the physical sensation, the sheer pleasure, but I couldn’t delay the decision any longer.

Mistress St. Claire just looked on with delight … and endless confidence. She knew what I was going to do; the fact that I had come back today was sign enough that any hesitation was merely delaying the inevitable.

“Y-yes. All right. Yes.” I signed with redoubled interest, and soon it was done. Soon, Audrey Smith simply ceased to exist. 

“Excellent. Now, we can go ahead and begin the transformation, but you will then undergo a small operation to replace your eyes. Come along, please.” Mistress St. Claire moved past me toward the hallway, and I followed after, both of the drones refusing to release their hold on me.

“I was going to ask about those. Why do they … uh, what are they for?” 

“They are what connect each of my drones to one another. A shared space to allow minds to mingle and share information.” She glanced over her shoulder at me, grinning mischievously. “Plus, they look really hot, don’t you think?” I couldn’t deny it. “I have a friend who manufactures them for me, and all she wanted in return was a drone of her own. It seemed like a fair compromise to me.” 

I nodded, my insides twisted together in anticipation, excitement, and terror. It was too late to back down; I had signed away every right I ever had, and even if I bolted the ink was already drying. I was stuck, like it or not, so I resolved to like it. 

We went up one staircase, and ultimately into a large room devoid of furniture. On the floor were elaborate concentric circles drawn in white, with runes carefully written in the empty spaces. Transformation magic was difficult and complex; a transformation as thorough as dronification was undoubtedly even moreso. 

“Girls, let Audrey go. You may pleasure each other while you watch if you stay quiet.” They were reluctant to release me, it seemed, but soon clung to each other instead. Mistress St. Claire nodded to the runic circle. “Strip down, and then go stand in the center and do not move. This will not take long.” 

I swallowed hard. This was it. The moment of truth. I didn’t have any compunctions about getting naked for them; hells, I didn’t have many compunctions about getting naked in any circumstances. Would that stay, I wondered. Would I still be … me, after a fashion? Just how much of my mind would linger? 

My clothes soon discarded, my soft, curvaceous body -- so very unlike the drones -- completely on display, and I stepped into the center of the circle as directed, and closed my eyes.

Within seconds, I heard Mistress St. Claire’s soft voice chanting, and the tendrils of power began wrapping around me. They slid around my naked form, touching and teasing my most sensitive places, and even felt like they slipped right up into my pussy, and I couldn’t stifle the soft moan that rose, unbidden. 

Transformation always felt wonderful. I didn’t know if it did for everyone, but for me, there was no sensation greater. Sex paled in comparison; even the strongest orgasm I had ever felt was a mere flicker compared to the roaring inferno that was  _ change. _

The changes happened quickly, too quickly for me to catalogue. I grew shorter, knowing I was dropping down to the five-foot-six that the rest of the drones were, a couple inches shorter than Mistress St. Claire. My hair shifted, lengthened, creeping down my back until it brushed against my rounding ass. My skin crawled as it shifted lighter in color, an alabaster that I knew contrasted wonderfully with my ebon hair. My lips swelled to a pair of plump, lush pillows that seemed tailored to wrap around a fat dick.

My breasts inflated further and further, growing heavier on my slimming frame, but the muscles in my back strengthened to compensate. My waist contracted as though wearing an invisible corset, but my hips widened, my ass thickening and growing taut, round, full. Even my cunt felt like it was growing -- not in size, but in sheer intensity, my needy clit aching for touch, gushing nectar down my thick thighs.

I couldn’t see myself as it happened, but I had seen enough of the other drones to guess how I looked. I was a caricature of femininity, impossible and inhuman, and I knew I was exquisite. Busty and thick, lush and sexual, clearly made for one and only one purpose: to grant pleasure.

The physical changes weren’t all, of course. Those deliciously warm tendrils of power soon thrust into my very mind, and I came on the spot, my knees threatening to buckle … but I didn’t. Because Mistress St. Claire told me not to move.

I opened my eyes, and I saw her.

Mistress St. Claire! Oh, how I loved her! She was the center of my world, of my universe! How had I ever doubted whether I should become a drone? I should have done it sooner! She deserved nothing more than devotion, service, adoration from as many drones as she wanted! Mistress St. Claire became absolute, utter perfection in my mind, and my heart sang with joy from the simple knowledge that I belonged to her. 

No wonder Heart and Star had seemed so utterly devoted to her. She was … flawless. Perfect. A living Goddess, and it took every ounce of remaining self-control to keep from throwing myself at her feet and begging to be allowed to serve. To give her pleasure. She owned me legally, I was her property, and now she rightfully owned my heart as well.

At long last, her chanting faded, and the tendrils of power withdrew. I staggered in their wake, stumbling down to my hands and knees, panting heavily. My pussy burned, desperate and hungry; I had never been that horny in my entire life, and I hardly knew what to do about it. Tending to myself seemed woefully inadequate, but I thankfully didn’t have to worry for long.

I heard footsteps, and soon her bare feet entered my field of vision. “How do you feel?” came her wonderful, heavenly voice, and I couldn’t hold myself back: I shifted forward and began to eagerly kiss her feet in supplication, in need, in desire. 

“I … I feel wonderful, Mistress St. Claire. Thank you so, so much for doing this for me. Thank you for giving me this body, for claiming me, for letting me serve you,” I managed to gush between kisses; I didn’t dare look up at her, but her tone was bemused as she spoke up again.

“Good. Stop, Audrey. Get on your knees and look at me.” I immediately obeyed, lifting my gaze to her, and it was like looking at the sun: she was so beautiful. So exquisite. I longed for even the slightest touch, the mildest of praise … but beneath my worship, something bugged me. Something lingered in my mind.

Why did I still have a mind?

Mistress St. Claire seemed to know exactly what I was thinking, though. Of course she did; she was brilliant, perfect. “The mental changes I can do are honestly somewhat limited. I gave you an overwhelming desire to serve me, to be loyal, to obey, but the rest of what goes into my drones is done through the eyes and the connection into the shared drone space.” I nodded, and she turned away, my heart feeling as though it was tearing in two to no longer have her direct attention. 

“Don’t worry. We’ll make that happen for you very soon.” She returned a moment later carrying … where had she gotten that enormous syringe? I was still myself, just with obedience and love piled on top, so fear flared within me for a moment at the sight. “Just relax. This will only hurt a moment, and when you wake up, you will be one of my perfect drones. Be a good girl for Mistress.” That much I could do, and I banished the fear as best I could as she jabbed me with that wicked looking syringe right in the upper arm.

Unconsciousness claimed me mere moments later.


End file.
